


A God of Blood and Bone

by EveoftheCollapse



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Canon, Angst, Canon Related, Canon-Typical Violence, Childhood Trauma, F/M, Family, Just pushing canon in a slightly different direction, Manipulation, Multi, Other, Past Child Abuse, Slow Burn, Trauma, slooow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-05-14 10:03:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14767488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EveoftheCollapse/pseuds/EveoftheCollapse
Summary: Deputy Evelyn Collins has always known her purpose: to look after her twin brother, Michael. It’s why she was born, and she has believed this truth since she was old enough to comprehend it.      But when it matters, when Michael is in the greatest danger, Eve is powerless. Weak and alone, Eve is forced to confront the scars she bears, and question her entire existence.What is herpurpose? What is she willing tosacrifice?There will be no salvation, for all are sinners under heaven.**Longtime lurker. Still getting familiar with the system. Tags will be updated as I learn the system and as the story progresses. Story rating may also change.**





	1. Botched

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so it begins...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Though my first fanfic, this is not the first multi chapter story I've written. This is very much a slow burn, so I hope you enjoy the show.
> 
> You can find me on tumblr (also as eveofthecollapse). Comment here or there, even if it's not about the story. I would love discuss anything Far Cry 5 related, with anyone.

_"Dispatch, you still there?"_

_"Yes, go ahead Sheriff."_

_"You don't hear from us in fifteen minutes send in everyone. Call the goddamn National Guard if you have to. Over."_

_"Yessir, Sheriff. I'll be praying for you."_

Evelyn Collins glanced at her dashboard radio. She didn't say a word. She wasn't supposed to be here, crossing over into Hope County from the east. This was insubordination. Couldn't have two rookies making a night raid into a religious nutjob's gun toting cult. That would be _crazy_. Forget that nobody should have been making a trip into Joseph Seed's compound at all, let alone at night. But apparently taking Eve was just a little more crazy than they were willing to commit to.

She would be damned, though, if she was going to let her brother--her twin--walk in there alone without her. Even if all she did was drive around the banks of the Henbane, wasting gas, until it was over. It didn't matter. She wasn't going to leave him.

The car she drove was nondescript. Just an unmarked, black jeep, cutting through the chill of a Montana night. The windows were rolled down, and Eve kept an eye on the roadside. It wasn't just wildlife she was watching for, it was the Peggies. There were groups of them by the side of the road, every ten miles or so, set up at little outposts. They didn't make any move to stop her car. They just watched. She wasn't anyone to them in her plainclothes.

It was 2:44 a.m., just over three minutes since Whitehorse last transmitted. Everything was quiet and still. The hairs on the back of her neck were standing on end. She felt like an animal before a storm; nervous and twitchy. Eve took big, calming breaths. No news was just that. Nothing. It wasn't good or bad. Yet.

2:49 a.m. came and went without a word. Eve's knuckles whitened as she held the wheel. Night had deepened, headlights barely cutting through the darkness. She should have laid off the gas, but her foot felt like lead. She was focused more on the radio than the road. Moonlight glinted off the ripples of the Henbane to her right.

2:51. 2:52. Her stomach felt stretched and heavy. 2:53. 2:54.

When the radio screamed into life, Eve jumped.

_"Nancy. Nancy, come in, Nancy! Do you copy? Nancy!"_

Eve slammed on the breaks; she'd have a bruise from the seatbelt. There were screams, unintelligible screams in the background as Whitehouse shouted over the radio. Even amid it all she could hear Michael. She recognized his voice in her very bones. He was shouting, panicked. Eve couldn't move. Over the water she could barely make out a black dot, stark in the moonlight, as it rose, stuttered, whirled, and stalled. Even so far away she knew what it was. In horror she watched a ball of fire explode out, dissipating as it fell into smoke. And then that black dot, the helicopter, began to plummet.

"No," Eve whispered. "No, no, no, no, no." She watched until it vanished into the trees. And still, she stared.

_"Sheriff? Please come in."_

Nancy's panicked voice crackled over the radio. There was no answer; Eve didn't answer. She shouldn't have been there. Shouldn't have. Shouldn't. No one should have been there. Only silence. The song of crickets. Her hands were shaking. She put them back on the wheel, gripping tight.

_"Someone...please..."_

She almost reached for the speaker. Almost. But there were more important things. Putting the car back into gear, Eve took off, faster now. Her body felt like it was vibrating with fury and fear. If she didn't keep both hands on the wheel she would explode into a million sharp pieces. She had to keep it together. For Michael. She had to get to him.

Something was happening. The Peggies no longer watched placidly. There was shouting, fires. Eve pressed harder on the gas, but there was nowhere for it to go. Tires squealed as she took a sharp turn. The car went up on two wheels, until she got it back under control, and it slammed back down on all fours.

There was nothing on the radio except for Nancy fighting her hysterics. The old woman sounded close to tears. She was barely keeping it together.

_"Come in...this is Nancy. Is everything OK? Over."_

Nothing was fucking OK. They had sent her brother into a fucking lion's den. Lions with guns; she giggled a little manically at the imagery, worry fraying her mind. It was the fault of that stupid, fucking Marshal; a glory seeker, through and through. And they had volunteered Michael. And they had taken him without her.

Michael had told her not to worry. That he would be safe. Eve hadn't believed him for a second.

_"Please, are you there? Are you there? Are you there, Sheriff?"_

No answer.

_“Deputy Hudson, if you're there, please pick up."_

Eve could see a bridge onto Joseph Seed’s island in the distance. It was lit up. There was movement.

_"Deputy Pratt? Are you there? Are you there?"_ Eve heard Nancy take a breath, gather herself. _"Earl, come in. Over. Please. Are you there? Is somebody there? Please."_ Nancy devolved into a sob. _"Please, I need to know what's going on."_

No answer. The line was dead. Dead. There wasn't going to be an ans--

_"Dispatch."_

Nancy's voice broke. _"Oh my god."_

The voice that spoke was calm, even. Unfamiliar, though alarming. _"Everything is just fine here."_

What? Eve glanced at the radio. That wasn't Whitehorse, or the deputies. It certainly wasn't Michael. It wasn't even that fucking Marshal.

_"No need to call anyone."_

Like hell. Nancy had to--

_"Yes, Father. Praise be to you."_

"What the fu--" Eve whispered. Father?

...Father.

...Joseph Seed. That voice belonged to Joseph fucking Seed.

For the first time that night, Eve grabbed the speaker. A more reasonable response to the situation might have been to keep quiet, but no one had ever accused Eve of being reasonable where Michael was concerned. _"If you touch them, I'll fucking kill you, you sick fuck,"_ she snarled.

She had never felt more useless than she did in that tense moment. Michael might as well have been in China, for all that she mattered. Her threat was hollow. And Seed knew it.

_"...Child, who is this?"_

There was no way to stop what happened next. No matter how hard Eve squeezed the speaker it was never going to be Nancy’s throat. _"Evelyn Collins. One of the new deputies. Her brother was sent to take you away. But God protected you, Father."_ Nancy sounded relieved; elated. _"He protected you."_

Nancy. That fucking traitor.

_"Deputy. Your brother has gone against God. He cannot be allowed to continue down this path. Only I can save him."_

_"I'm coming for you, do you hear me?"_ Eve's fingers trembled.

_"Sometimes the best thing to do is to walk away."_

Then there was only silence. Eve screamed. She tore at the radio with one hand, her fingernails scrapping and breaking against it. Bile was rising in her throat, warm and acrid, as the car slowed to a crawl. She needed to get out, she was going to be sick. Had to stop, had to think. Anger was suffocating her; rage and panic and denial. A cacophony of fear droning in her head. The car turned off the road, settling at the edge.

Michael was gone. Dead, or taken by Joseph's people. Fucking Peggies. Fuck the cult, and this place. Fuck Hope.

Leaning over, Eve took her service weapon from the glovebox. The cold weight was a comfort, heavy enough to stop the trembling. She checked it, then checked it again. Then a third time, until the shaking had completely subsided. Was it just her against all of Hope County now? No one was coming to help. No one knew that they needed saving. The Peggies and Nancy would see to that. Eve checked her gun again. Religious paranoia never mixed well with the masses.

Headlights were coming down the road. Eve glanced up, before inching forward in the seat to tuck the gun in the waistband of her jeans, underneath her shirt. The truck moved steadily along the median. Putting one hand on the wheel, Eve shrunk down.

Some hymn or another settled around her head, drifting like a haze in the quiet night. The truck slowed. Stopped. It idled next to her until Eve worked up the nerve to glance furtively at them. Three men in the truck. They were all staring.

"Evening," she murmured. They didn’t answer, didn’t drop their gazes. Her eyes darted over their faces. “Is there a problem, gentlemen?”

Eerily, they made no answer. She could see their guns, held close and proud to their chests. If she made an obvious move for her weapon they would not hesitate to gun her down. The sound as she swallowed felt deafening.

The driver nudged his companion. “Take her for the Reaping.”

Eve threw herself toward the passenger door. Her thighs slammed against the steering wheel, the gear shift dug into her stomach, catching on the buttons of her shirt. Panic fought to settle in her hands as she wiggled across the seats. There were boots on the pavement. The driver’s door opened. Someone grabbed her ankle.

Screaming wordlessly, Eve lunged for the passenger door handle, fingers straining to hold on. She kicked backwards, aiming at random, hoping to do as much damage as she could, even as she scooted closer to escape. But they had her around the legs now. There was no way to fight. Fingers lost their hold and she went sliding backwards.

When she hit the pavement, she tried to break her fall, twisting to land on her shoulder. Her head hit the footboard, sending white searing light exploding across her sight. Disoriented and dazed, she lay there, at their mercy. Rolling over, she let her arm be caught under her.

“She must be taken for the Cleansing. John will see to her Atonement,” one spoke. “This is the Will of the Father. The Great Collapse is upon us.”

Cleansing? Atonement? Eve’s fingers closed around the handle of her gun. She imagined those words with giant capital letters, and the image they painted wasn’t a pleasant one. John had to be John Seed, Joseph’s brother. One giant fucked up family.

Two men outside the car, one still in the backseat. She saw them, when she managed to open her eyes, descend on her like a hallucination; blurred, edged in white light. It couldn’t be from the headlights. One reached down for her, and Eve levered herself up. She pulled her gun, shooting him under the chin, using her momentum to carry her up into the man behind. The Peggie still in the truck opened his door. Colliding with the man still in front of her, Eve carried them both into the side of the truck, slamming the door again. She shot the man in the backseat. She felt the outline of the Peggie’s rifle between them shift as he tried to grapple for it. Holding the barrel, she angled it down, bringing her other arm around to shoot him in the temple.

Only three shots. Three dead Peggies. Eve stared at the gun in her hand, before dropping it. They were the first. The first ever. Not just kills, but the first time she’d been forced to pull her weapon. Human beings, no matter how messed up, dead at her feet, blood and brain splattered across the stark white of the truck, dripping down onto the pavement.

The shock of it was what made her hands tremble. How quickly they had fallen. Here, then gone. Three shots, and it was over. Three heartbeats stilled forever. Irrevocably altered. Her ears were still ringing; she couldn’t hear anything else.

After a few moments the shock wore off. Eve waited for something else to hit her. Horror, or sickness. The crickets sang again in the night. She waited. She waited for nothing. Though that wasn’t precisely correct. She waited for feelings that never came, because they were the wrong feelings. It wasn’t horror that crept up on her, but a startling sense of vindication. These men had tried to abduct her, and now they were dead. Why should she regret?

Eve bent down, picking up her gun again. Detached from her own actions, she rifled through the pockets of the Peggies. She took a semi-automatic rifle, some ammunition, and a thigh holster. Back in her jeep, she took binoculars and a flashlight from the glovebox. For a time, she sat there, door open, listening to the Montana wilds, staring at what she had done. She waited, curious still if she would be changed by it. Nothing struck her.

More Peggies would be coming soon. Eve took her jacket and rucksack from the backseat, shoving whatever she could inside. She’d leave her jeep here. It was more a liability now than an aid. She suspected only Peggie cars could go unmolested on these streets. Shouldering her pack, Eve slipped her gun into her new holster, and took off through the field.


	2. P.O.S

It was amazing how quickly and how completely everything fell apart. After the botched arrest, after declaring this Reaping, Hope County descended into chaos. Everyone always had this vague notion that if the world fell apart it might take months or years, or at the very least weeks. Eve witnessed firsthand how fast things could change. If family, friends, neighbors could turn on each other this quickly, she shuddered to think what strangers could do. Or maybe it had always been this bad. Honestly, the county had barely been a blip on the map before Joseph Seed arrived. Even after that, only a few people cared to notice.

Eve had never been one of those people, even after moving here. She had lived in Montana her whole life, and never knew Hope County existed, or Joseph fucking Seed, or his fucking cult, until Michael had applied to work here; and she had naturally followed. The file had slid across the desk she shared with Michael and she had barely opened it. Arresting a crazy cult leader? It felt like something they’d never be involved in. They had only been in the office for a few months; hadn’t even graduated beyond running stupid errands. Eve had initially passed on the opportunity when Whitehorse proposed that one of them could go. But Michael had been excited for the opportunity. The thrill it had put in his eyes had sat uneasy in her stomach. There was only room on the helicopter for one of them, though.

Sitting cross legged on the floor of an abandoned home, Eve snapped a few twigs and absently pitched them into her fire. She had built the controlled flame in a corner of the living room, using whatever she could to contain and feed it. There had been a Book of Joseph in the yard, just beyond the porch. It was torn and bloody, a few pages scattered from the binding. By the state of the smashed front doors and windows, and the scattered furniture, Eve guessed the book hadn’t belong to the owners. The word SINNER scrawled sloppily on a wall in the kitchen confirmed it.

The book’s pages had been the foundation of her fire.

It was hard to know who to trust. That alone was exhausting. The cultist were easy enough to pick out of a crowd, but folk were scared. They might say anything in pain and fear to avoid whatever hell the Peggies would inflict on them. Better to avoid all contact. No one would have to lie about things they didn’t know.

Nothing made her feel like a piece of shit quite like turning a blind eye, though. After her first encounter, Eve cut a track south, away from Joseph’s island. When she heard screams, she rushed for cover, laying on her belly in tall grass, or crouching under the shade of trees. At night she covered her ears with her arms, rolling over to glare into the darkness. It was callous and cowardly, but Michael was her priority. He came first. Before all things.

It was probably the stupidest thing she had ever done to willingly begin the trek back toward Joseph’s compound. She’d be walking into the heart of the cult, but if there were any clues about where Michael had run to, or where they had taken him, it would be there. It was her only lead. Though a risk, it was one she’d take. And after her initial despair, she refused to believe he was dead.

Eve let her fire die down to embers. There was no moon, leaving the room in near total darkness. Putting the couch right side up, she lay down, curling up around her pack, rifle propped against the corner near her head; well within reach.

The night was uneventful, and she woke well before dawn, when the world was still hazy and unreal. She ate a meager breakfast from what she could scavenge from the cupboards, and what she had in her pack. Living rough wasn’t completely foreign to her, but it had been awhile. It took a conscious effort to ration her supplies and not simply scarf down her meal. Wrapping up what was left, she stowed it, shouldering her pack and her rifle.

Mourning doves called softly, and she felt dew settle in her black hair. The world was beautiful for a moment. With the sunrise shining through the morning mist it felt like peace, silence. Eve lowered the butt of her gun to the ground, leaning it against her leg, just to enjoy it for the brief time she had it.

All too soon, it was time to go.

There were enough footpaths and hunter’s trails to keep off the main road. Eve found the statue of Joseph Seed and used it as a landmark, heading northward. It was the easiest thing to spy for miles, and imposed over everything below. Just like a Father. It seemed fitting that his back was to her as she snuck through the brush toward his compound. Eventually she would have to move west along the base of the mountain, until she reached the Henbane.

She was lucky she had the presence of mind to wear hiking boots when she came out here, although the rest of her attire wasn’t entirely adapted to the environment. Eventually she would have to scavenge another shirt and probably a jacket; her leather jacket, while stylish, wasn’t warm enough for the chill of the night. Taking people’s belongings left a bad taste in her mouth. Food was one thing. It would spoil, but clothes and other things were different. Not all folk around here had enough to spare. But if she told herself it was for the greater good, then that would be enough.

Except she wasn’t even trying for the “greater good”. There were Peggies everywhere, assaulting people, hurting and hunting them. Taking and burning. She did nothing about it. Too focused on herself, and her own goal. That wasn’t the greater good, that was selfish. She was doing it to save Michael. Her brother. Her twin.

Who would, if in her shoes, stop to help every goddamn resident of Hope County if he could.

Eve rubbed tiredly at her temple. There was an ache in her feet and legs that hadn’t ebbed overnight. It grew as she trekked up and down the hills. This would take forever. Even if she reached Joseph’s compound before tomorrow evening, it was simply a starting point. Michael probably wasn’t even there, and it would take even longer to chase after him. If he was, how was she supposed to escape with him feeling as beat down as she was? There was a small part of her that regretted leaving her jeep. There was a larger part that told her she needed to steal a Peggie truck. It would give her some camouflage, at least at a cursory glance.

Near midday Eve halted under the shade of a few trees, just a little way back from the road. She took off her jacket, feeling the instant relief from the heat on her back. With an extra pair of shoelaces she found in the bottom of her pack, she lashed the leather jacket to the pack, and used the entire thing as a pillow. Laying on her back, she ate a bit of jerky and some peanuts that had probably been in her bag for a year. When she closed her eyes, she listened. There were cars that passed every once and awhile. Everyone out here owned a beat-up vehicle, either truck or car, and there was no way to tell by sound alone what belonged to a Peggie.

She didn’t want to fight for it. If only she could find one of their trucks, unattended. Most people around here didn’t lock their car doors, kept their keys in the cab. She wondered if they kept track of their equipment, and would notice the loss of a truck. Would they search for it? Was she making herself a bigger target?

Sighing, Eve sat up. She had wasted a little over an hour. In her boots, her heels had the sting of blisters forming, and soon the skin would tear and bleed. It couldn’t be helped. There was a small first aid kit in the backpack, but a couple of band-aids couldn’t do much. Hands gripping the underside of her thighs, Eve rocked gently a few times, before rolling to her feet. She groaned a little when she was finally standing. Shoulders drooping, she grabbed her bag.

Most of the afternoon was spent skirting around the slope, keeping the statue of the Father on her right. It was walking along there, in the late afternoon, that she met her first one. He was a bald man, maybe only a few inches taller than her 5’4”, and outfitted like how she imagined asylum patients would be dressed: stark white clothes, very plain, no belt, a little loose. He was standing beside the road, holding a hoe almost absently, the head of it dragging behind him as he stumbled along. When she glanced around, she saw no one else. Something made the hairs on her neck stand as she drew closer.

She didn’t say anything to him. Didn’t make the mistake of calling out to greet him. Keeping her distance, she shuffled around him, still staying off the road. It became increasingly apparent that he didn’t belong there; in so many ways. Eve was loathed to turn her back on him. Eventually, she passed and she tensed, waiting for him to see her. There was only small brush to hide behind. She held her breath.

It took a moment. She almost thought she might go unnoticed. The man made a noise of interest, stopping in his tracks. His head swiveled around to see her. Eve’s hand dropped to the pistol. Neither of them moved. Then with a slavering scream, the man charged.

“Oh shit!” Eve backpedaled, drawing the pistol; the rifle’s bullets were more precious and she would try not to waste them where they weren’t needed. The man covered half the ground to her by the time she pulled and fired. He took two in the chest, crumpling backwards, going still. Eve begged her pulse to slow, lowering the gun. She took a deep breath, swallowed, squared her shoulders, then glanced around. Nobody immediately came to investigate. The man had been completely alone.

Someone took a wet breath behind her. Eve rounded, pulling up her gun again. The man on the ground was stirring, trying to rise. Eyes going wide, she took a step back. Two red holes were blossoming across his chest, yet he stood, staggered, then charged at her again.

Swearing, Eve fired again, another bullet right beside the first two. He kept coming. “Fuck,” she snarled. It really wasn’t in her to get fancy. Usually three bullets to center mass would make a man fall, if not kill him outright, and certainly wouldn’t let him be charging like this man. Not unless he was hopped up on some serious shit. Eve steadied her aim, waited until he was closer, before firing. The man’s head snapped back as the bullet passed right between his eyes. For a moment he stood, back bent. Then he dropped, like a puppet without strings.

Eve put her hands on her knees. “What the fuck? What the fuck, what the fuck, whatthefuck, whatthefuck,” she murmured, until it was one long, broken word. She’d seen junkies before. She’d seen the kinds of things they could do, and endure, but it had always seemed like something far away. She hadn’t had time yet to experience it firsthand. And experiencing it firsthand alone, on the side of a road, in the midst of a fucking doomsday cult revolution was not her preference.

When she had gathered herself enough to straighten, Eve holstered her pistol. The man had fallen at an awkward angle, heels nearly touching his lower back, his head and shoulders on the ground, his back bowed. Eve lowered him until he was lying flat; it seemed more humane. His white clothes were dirty, stiff with dried sweat. There wasn’t much of interest in his pockets, no weapons or ammo. There were two small bottles, one of liquid and one of powder. And in his other pocket, flattened and misshapen was a white flower.

It looked like some of the flowers being cultivated in the region. Not wild grown, that she could tell. She had seen small fields of those flowers, set back a few miles from the road, everywhere she went. The fields were often attended and guarded, so she had never felt compelled to get a closer look. It was a pretty flower. She was halfway to raising it to her nose, before she remembered where it had been. Shivering with a little disgust, she placed it by the man’s head.

She had killed four people now. How many was too many?

Even as she lingered by the body for upwards of ten minutes, no one came looking for the man, or looking for the source of the gunshots. A place like Hope County, gunshots weren’t unusual, even before the cult, but she expected something. Compatriots. A patrol. She looked down at the man, hidden in the brush, alone, knowing that she couldn’t dig a grave, and felt a pang of remorse. At least the three men on the road would have been found.

There was one dignity Eve felt every human being was owed, and that was not to have their eyeballs pecked out by vultures. Every person, no matter how vile they had become, had once started out as something else. Innocent, perhaps, and it was to this that the dead returned. It seemed only right that the dead could rest. It was also a test of the living, to be better than their worst instincts.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, laying the flower on his chest instead.

Grabbing her bag and the rifle, Eve stood, walking off down the road. Another mile or so and she felt dampness on her heel. It was hard not to feel like she was getting nowhere. Looking up now at the profile of the Father, Eve sat in the grass, pulling off her right shoe. The sock was soaked through at the heel with blood. Peeling it off, she looked at the damage. She could see a peek of white, dead skin where it was torn and frayed. For a moment she just sat there, shoe off, sock slid halfway down her foot, blood smeared on her heel, and stared at it as if it were a hill she had to climb greater than the mountains that surrounded her.

How was she supposed to find Michael? She was stumbling around in the dark, hoping that things would work out. That he would be somewhere along the way, if only she kept moving. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Michael shouldn’t have had to go through this. She was supposed to keep him out of trouble, safe. He was the golden boy. Things just worked for him, and she made sure they did. Why hadn’t she been there to stop this? She should have fought harder to stay by his side.

Eve closed her eyes. She took a deep breath. When she opened her eyes again, she found a loose, jagged rock, using it to tear a strip off the bottom of her t-shirt. Soaking it in water from her canteen, she dabbed at her heel, until it was free of blood. Before it could begin again, she wiped it dry, and plastered three band-aids over the blister. She gathered her things, and her strength, and set off again.

In the early evening Eve was beginning to round the base of the mountain. She could see the face of the statue of the Father, lording over her from his perch. Along the bend of the road, across the street, was a one-story building. It looked like a visitor center, with billboards and signs erected all around it. “Join Me”, “We Are All Angels” two read. There were others. “Take The Leap”. “We Love You”. “Walk the Path”. “Just Say Yes”. It was a fucking Peggie recruitment station or something. For all she knew there were fucking souvenir keychains and t-shirts in there. Rolling her eyes, Eve kept to the brush and left it behind. She wasn’t going to touch that one.

Night was falling. She had seen the bridge to Joseph’s compound, behind her now, but it was far too late. Soon she had to consider where she would set up camp. Stumbling around in the dark with the Peggies on the loose was an even worse idea than literally walking toward Joseph fucking Seed; though that might just have been the circumstances of the moment talking. She didn’t see any empty shacks or houses, and she was too close to the road. Either she would have to move further into the mountains, under the statue’s creepy presence, or she would have to take her chances and keep moving, and circle back tomorrow.

Another mile and she spied some lights through the trees. Light could mean Peggies, could mean survivors, and honestly, Eve didn’t know which she preferred. At least she knew where she stood with the Peggies. With survivors it would have to be a game of wait and see. Wait and see who shot who first. Wait and see if they could trust.

As she drew closer she heard the faint, pained groans of a man. Her jaw tensed in irritation, and she glanced briefly at the sky as if seeking patience. If it was a Peggie she would gladly put him out of his misery, but if it was a resident, she doubted she could convince herself that it would be right to walk on by. In her heart, she hoped it was the former.

She passed under the legs of a sign: HOLLYHOCK SALOON. Settling in the bushes, she gazed out across the parking lot. There were four men: three Peggies and another man trussed at their feet. Two Peggies stood over the captive, the third was by the open doorway of the saloon; he carried a bow. One of the Peggies was shirtless, tattooed, waving a white bound book above his head. Eve recognized it as a Book of Joseph. He was proselytizing wildly, though she doubted their captive cared much for the words.

Sitting back on her heels, Eve shrugged her pack to the ground and raised her rifle. This was going to be a little more difficult. She got into a kneeling stance, resting her elbow on her leg. The rifle steadied in her hands, letting her line up the closest Peggie. She mimed switching between them, seeing how fast she could move, aim, fire, and move again. If she were quick enough, she might be able to drop them before they even knew what was happening. She took a deep breath, let it out. She brought the first Peggie back into view. She took another breath, and let it out. Then she squeezed the trigger.

If not for the spray of blood, it might have looked like the Peggie had gotten hit in the side of the head with a stone. He was standing a little behind the second cultist—the shirtless one—and began to drop before the others noticed. Eve took the second one in the back of the head. His body fell over their captive, who quickly and annoyingly began to scream. Eve hissed, though the man couldn’t hear her, and moved on to the third and last.

Who had ducked back into the saloon.

“Shit.” Eve crouched, keeping to the bushes, using the night to further cover her, and began to circle toward the corner of the saloon. She made it to the front left corner of the building, feeling conspicuous and vulnerable on the fringes of the parking lot light. There was the sound of scuffling from inside, and she tilted her head to better place it. The captive man was wiggling like a worm, trying to scoot around to perhaps see her.

”Hey, hey!” He called. “You gotta help me!” She waved him off, holding a finger to her lips. “Don’t leave me here, man!”

She looked him in the eyes. “Shut up,” she hissed.

There was the flash of movement across her vision before she felt an arm across her throat, hauling her up. Eve immediately went limp, dropping all her weight to the floor. The man stumbled. He was used to people kicking and screaming, fighting. When she felt his hold loosen at her unexpected response, she threw herself forward. She didn’t break his grasp, but he did fall with her. They tumbled to the ground together. 

The Peggie was trying to stand while grappling her. Eve struggled now. She twisted, lithe and stronger than she looked, breaking his grasp enough to flip over. She brought her knee into his side—once, twice, three times—tossing him off, before rolling on top of him. Only one of his arms was pinned under her knee. He drew a knife with his other hand, swinging wildly. Eve threw up her arm to block, feeling the tip of the knife slice into her shoulder before she could stop the momentum of the blade. She punched him in the throat.

He sputtered, choked. The knife clattered from his hand as he reached for his neck. Eve took up the blade. The sternum would be too hard. Pressing the tip to his throat, she drove it down. He gurgled. Blood filled his open mouth as he tried to speak. Slowly, Eve sat back, before standing.

The hostage had fallen silent. Eve glanced at the tear in her shirt, and the gash across her shoulder. The wound was weeping blood. When she tested her range of motion, she felt nothing amiss, but for the sting of the wound. Nothing too bad.

“Now,” she said. The man froze as she turned. “What part of—” Eve put her finger to her lips, “don’t you understand?”

“I’m sorry, man. I’ve just been having a really bad day.”

“Haven’t we all?” Hefting the body of the Peggie off his legs, Eve helped the captive to sit up. His hands were tied with a simple knot, easily undone. “What’s your name?”

“Xander.” Freed, he rubbed his wrists.

"You're not from around here, are you?" Eve settled her arms across her knees as she crouched beside him. 

"I'm beginning to think I shouldn't have left southern Cali."

Ah, that was his accent. It was something she had only heard before in movies and tv shows. She had always thought it was an exaggeration, that no one really sounded like that. It was faintly amusing to find she was wrong.

“Hey…I know we just met and all, but I could really use your help.”

“I just helped you,” Eve replied. Sidling away from him, she began to gather what she could off the two dead Peggies beside him.

“No, no. You don’t understand. My Addy,” he said. “I can’t help her by myself. You gotta do something.”

“The only thing I have to do is find my brother. I have kin out here too.”

Eve stood, walking back to the dead Peggie by the saloon. The bow he had been carrying was laying a few feet behind him, unharmed. The quiver on his back had been crushed by their combined weight, but there were a few unbroken arrows. She was gathering them when Xander jogged over.

“This is way bigger than me, man. They were trying to kill me!”

Eve tested the bow, drawing it back. “Happens all the time. Go to a big city. Aren’t you from California?”

“Not like this, man. They weren’t interested in my wallet.” Xander had, at the very least, picked up one of the Peggie’s guns. “Aren’t you going to do anything?”

“Yeah. I’m going to find my brother. All of this—” Eve waved her arms to encompass the entirety of Hope County, “Is a little above my paygrade.” Almost as an afterthought, she pulled the dagger from the man’s throat, wiping it clean on his clothes.

“My Addy can help.” Xander trailed her like a lost puppy as she went to retrieve her bag. “She knows people. Everyone in the county! She owns the marina.”

“I’ll remember that when I want a boat tour.”

Eve stuck the arrows in the pack as best she could. Eventually she would have to find a quiver, but having a bow was a boon. Quick, quiet. It was how she would prefer to handle this. She adjusted the strap on the rifle, so she could dangle it from one shoulder, and turned back to face Xander, giving him a mock salute goodbye. The bow she held in her other hand.

Xander made a weak noise of desperation as Eve began to walk away. “She has a helicopter!”

Eve stopped. Turned. “What?”

“Yeah. She’s an awesome pilot, I swear. You can cover way more ground. C’mon, man.”

Eve glanced down the road, in the direction of Joseph Seed’s compound. To be able to see Hope County from the air, to get the lay of the land before she walked in there, to hope that she could find Michael, and fly him right out of here, it was an opportunity she didn’t know if she could pass up. She looked back at Xander.

“Fine. Let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Three will be very short. I’m not quite sure on the length of Chapter 4, as it will cover a longer period of time. Depending on how Chapter 4 pans out, Eve will meet the Seeds (namely Joseph and John) in either Chapter 5 or 6. And then I can promise that the story I want to tell will really begin. Please, enjoy.


	3. Give A Little, Get A Little

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The road to hell is paved with the dead you kill with good intentions...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took awhile. I was stuck out of state in a hotel for a week, affording me little time to update. I was hoping to put both chapters 3 and 4 out together, but alas, it was not to be. It has also come to my attention (by actually taking the time to look at a billboard in Holland Valley that didn't have John's face plastered on it) that Addy should probably be spelled Addie. So, notice that change in the chapter below, and moving forward. I might go back and fix chapter 2; when I feel like it. Also, this story will have canon typical violence (as tagged) and language. If I heard it in the game, it's fair. If that bothers you, I apologize. Anyway, enjoy!

Weaving through the trees, Eve descended the hillside just north of the marina. It was a little after midnight by what she could tell. The moon was barely more than a sliver, casting just enough light to see the outline of the buildings spread out before her. When she and Xander had driven by at the same breakneck speed most people in the county seemed to have adopted nowadays, she had caught sight of a Peggie guarding the entrance to the marina, and another on the roof of the sheet metal barn. There had to be more, and the roof of the barn would prove her best chance at a vantage point.

She had left Xander in the woods with the Peggie truck they had commandeered. It was annoyingly sweet that he thought he could be of any use, but Eve didn’t want his blood on her hands when he got himself killed. She would get him his home, and his Addie back, and after that it didn’t matter what happened. He could fight as many Peggies as he wanted, so long as she was far away.

There was a hole in the chain link fence at the back of the barn, and Eve used it to slip inside. Somewhere, probably nearby, a woman was shouting. It was hard to catch everything, as Eve concentrated on her own footfalls and the small noises she was making, but if she had to bet money, she would have bet that was Addie; Xander had told her enough.

Around the left side of the barn was a ladder. For a moment Eve crouched there, willing her shaking hands to stop, taking a few deep breaths. This felt different than the other kills. Seven dead already, by her hands, and they had all been consequences of misfortune. The first four attacked her without provocation. The other three were in her path, holding a hostage. But this was a choice she was making. She had agreed to come here. This was seeking out the danger and the death. And she was willingly walking into a situation that would either end in her death—probably painful—or with more blood on her hands. There was no deescalating this situation.

Sliding the bow over her shoulder, Eve turned to the ladder and began to climb. She had two arrows clamped between her teeth, and another two stuck through her belt at an awkward angle. When she reached the top the Peggie was sitting in a camping chair near the far end. Carefully, Eve stepped off the ladder. She lay the bow down, along with the arrows, and took out the knife. There was clutter on the roof, chairs and a cooler and a radio. The Peggie was humming along to one of their hymns. Eve got closer, feeling the fear in her stomach. She let out a whisper of breath, before lunging.

The Peggie didn’t die gracefully, but he was thankfully quiet. Eve grabbed a fistful of his hair, the greasy strands nearly slipping through her fingers. He tottered on the chair as she tugged his head back, baring his throat for the knife, and his eyes caught her own before she drew the blade across his throat, as deeply and quickly as she could manage. And then she covered his mouth with her hand, lowering him down until the chair was laying him on his back. While he died she didn’t let herself look away.

She didn’t bother cleaning the knife. It rested where she left it, there on the Peggie’s unmoving chest, as she went back for her bow and arrows. She didn’t know if she were allowed to think ‘so far, so good’ when it came to killing people, but it was the thought that calmed her a bit. Retrieving the bow, she went back to the edge of the roof. There was no time for nerves now, only time to do. If she hesitated at this point she would die. There was no walking away.

Up toward the road she could see the guard, alone. Across the way was the marina proper, and two Peggies that she could see. And down at the docks four Peggies were loading barrels and drums onto a fishing boat. Laying her arrows beside her, within easy reach, Eve took up her bow, crouching on the roof, in the shadows like some kind of cliche hero.

“Don’t think,” she murmured to herself, nocking an arrow. The sooner this was over, the sooner she could get back to her purpose.

One of the Peggies in front of the marina broke away, turning away down the side and out of sight of his fellows. Eve put the back of his neck in the cross-hairs, waited until he was out of immediate earshot, and loosed. The moment she saw the arrow impact, she dropped to her belly. From where she was she couldn’t hear anything. No whimpers of a dying man, no alarms, or shouts. She gave it to the count of ten, before she peeked her head up. In the darkness, near the back of the marina, was the crumbled form of the Peggie. No one else seemed to be the wiser.

Don't think, just do. It was the mantra running through her head. The only thing keeping her sane and on the move as she gathered her knife and her bow, and her remaining arrows. Think about it later, she told herself, descending the ladder. Moving back down the length of the barn, skirting around in the dark toward the long white house out front. The guard standing there didn't know what hit him as an arrow took him in the side of the neck. Eve half carried, half dragged his body into the shadows.

The gun he was carrying was left where he fell. It was some kind of light machine gun. Eve had only a moment to marvel in horror and disbelief, grabbing it as she scurried across the dirt driveway, and ducked into the shadows on the other side. The machine gun dangled from its strap over her shoulder, longer than she was crouched. She moved up closer to the last guard left in front of the house. When she whistled softly, and the Peggie glanced aside she put an arrow in his eye. And then a second, and last arrow, immediately in his throat.

The four Peggies down on the docks were finishing up. The last few barrels were loaded, and they stood around as men do, laughing and talking. As quietly as she could, Eve hefted the machine  gun, propping it on a crate, sighting down on the Peggies. She reminded herself that these men had probably abused or killed innocents. Men like this had tried to abduct her only days ago. She had been lucky; others were not. There was no god Eve particularly believed in, but in that moment she prayed she was saving more lives than she was taking.

Then she pulled the trigger.

*|*|*|*|*

Adelaide Drubman reminded Eve of the crazy aunt she never had the benefit of having. A woman confident in her age and experience, while still clinging to vestiges of youth. It was simultaneously endearing, and not a little bit embarrassing. But Addie embraced it, and made few apologies, if any at all.

Eve liked her.

Standing in front of the marina proper, Eve watched the handful of people that had been imprisoned with Addie as they went about clearing the grounds. They gathered the Peggies' weapons, distributing them as needed; Eve had handed over the machine gun gladly. The Peggie bodies were taken to the woods, to either burn or bury. Xander was managing to stay out of the way, which she assumed was for the best. Eve raised an eyebrow as she watched him quietly begin stretching and posing.

Addie sidled up next to her, watching Xander for a moment. “Want a drink, deputy?” She asked, taking Eve’s arm and leading her into the building. The plywood had been pulled down and the door unbarred. Addie flicked on the lights. The bulbs sputtered, buzzed, then held. “I think I still got some hooch squirreled away.”

“The Peggies didn’t take it?”

“If they did it was just to smash it,” Addie said. She moved around behind the counter, her heel knocking on the floor, looking for a loose board. “The Seeds moved in and this county became drier than a menopausal cunt.”

“Vivid imagery,” Eve said.

Addie found what she was looking for. “I’m sure you can’t even imagine something like that, sweetheart,” she said, ducking down. Eve heard the slats being lifted and moved aside. Leaning on the counter, she watched Addie triumphantly raise a half full bottle of whiskey. “Pretty, young thing like you. What are you doing here, honey?” Addie stood again.

“I’m looking for my brother.”

Addie produced two cheap tumblers, pouring a few fingers of whiskey for them both. “He turn Peggie, or just taken by them?”

“Taken. I think. I’m not even sure.” Eve turned the glass in her hands, wondering how much she could say. What was the harm? Addie already knew about her. “He was…one of the deputies sent to arrest Joseph Seed.”

“Well…shit,” Addie said. It was succinct, but utterly appropriate. Downing her drink, Addie slammed the glass on the counter. “That situation sure went tits up.”

“No kidding.”

“How’s the search going?”

Eve leaned closer. “Have you seen a white male, twenty-eight years old, black hair, blue eyes? Good looking, an absolute idiot?”

“Can’t say I have.”

“It’s going about that well,” Eve answered.

“Sounds like my type, though.” Addie laughed. “Well, you’ve done me a good turn. Got me my marina back. Saved Xander’s ass. Literally. To lose that ass…now that would be a sin. God, it keeps me young.” Addie finished off another shot, and nudged Eve until she drained her own glass. “Other than a good fuck, nothing would give me greater pleasure than ruining the Peggies’ day. Let’s see what we can do for you.”

“Have any ideas? Cause so far my best—and only plan—involves politely asking Joseph Seed to fuck off.”

“Other than the ‘politely’ part, it’s not a bad plan. But we’ll see if we can do one better.”

Addie left the whiskey on the counter and beckoned Eve to follow. She led her toward a back room, stepping over glass and mangled displays. Between the two of them, they managed to right some shelves, and pick up what they could, but it was a mess of more than a days work to fix. Eve could see the anger boil under Addie’s skin the more time they spent in the ruins of her business. But the older woman simply raised her chin, set her jaw, and moved onward.

The backroom was more like a glorified closet. It didn’t look to be used for much more than a radio room, and hoarding random crates. There was an assortment of junk and knickknacks, along with a dusty CB radio.

“That still work?” Eve asked.

“We’re about to find out. Give me a sec.”

Eve glanced around as Addie went about checking the radio. The assortment of junk was an even more impressive collection than originally presented. There were screws mixed in with nails in a few buckets. On a thin bench along one wall was a hoard of loose, random ammo. Eve scooped it all into one pile, picking out what she thought she might need. Under the bench was a crate full of rags, and beneath those were three sticks of dynamite. Eve was starting to wonder why she was still surprised; she pocketed those as well.

“Got it,” Addie said, finally. The radio flared to life. “Let’s see who’s out there.”

It was mostly static and silence as Addie adjusted the dial. At least it worked, even if there was no one to answer. Eve stood there with her arms crossed, reminding herself not to hope. Would Michael even have a working radio? “Hold on,” Addie said. There was a voice coming through the noise.

_“—come in. Do you copy?”_

Addie laughed, lifting the speaker. _“Dutch, you old coot. I thought for sure the Peggies would have killed you.”_

_“Not for lack of trying. Heard the marina got overrun. Glad to hear you’re up and running again. Haven’t had a friendly voice on here in awhile.”_

_“Are you getting sentimental on me, old man?”_

_“Our good deputy has been radio silent.”_

Addie turned to smile at Eve. _“Well, you’re in luck. I’m standing right next to her.”_

_“Her? What do you mean her?”_

_“Are you finally going senile in that bunker?”_ Addie sat, leaning back in the small office chair. When she turned again to Eve she winked, miming taking a swig. _“I told you there was mold down there. First it rots your brain. Then it rots your dick.”_

 _“Addie—”_ Dutch’s voice sounded low and grave, more serious than it had only a moment ago; which was truly impressive, Eve thought. _“I don’t know who you’re with. Be careful. All the deputies were taken. Except for one. I don’t—”_

Without preamble Eve snatched the speaker. Her palms stung from the half moon cuts of her fingernails. _“Dutch, is it? My name is Deputy Evelyn Collins. I believe you had the pleasure of meeting my fool brother, Michael.”_

Silence was her answer. Eve felt heat growing on the back of her neck. Did he think this was some kind of Peggie trick? What would be the point? When she glanced at Addie the older woman merely shrugged, before reaching for the speaker. She tilted it down.

_“Hey, old man, I get it. It’s hard to trust right now. Do I know she’s a deputy? I guess not. Not like she’s wearing a badge. But what I do know is she just killed every Peggie here. And all she wants is to find her brother.”_

More silence. Eve took a deep breath.

_“Will you stop calling me old man? We’re the same age.”_

_“Not in spirit, sweetheart.”_

Dutch humphed, clearing his throat. _“Sorry, deputy. As she said, it’s hard to trust these days.”_

_“Do you know where my brother is?”_

_“I know where he was. Fall’s End.”_

_“He wasn’t taken?”_

_“They certainly tried. But no. He’s out there giving them hell.”_

Eve settled back on her heels, thinking for a moment. _“You said ‘was’. Where is he now?”_

_“Don’t know. Helped out the folks down there, then split. Didn’t say where he was going. He’s been radio silent.”_

Fuck, Michael. Eve sighed. He couldn’t make it easy. Couldn’t just stay put. He had to run off, probably to play the hero, and get himself killed. Maybe all the times she had looked out for him had stunted his sense of self preservation.

Addie was tapping her fingernails against her cheek, studying Eve’s face. “What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.” She felt as hopeless as the day of the crash, pushed back to square one.

As if Dutch was privy to their private moment, he cut in. _“Deputy, I may have…a solution. If your brother was anything to go by, you two aren’t from around here. Sounds like what you need is a tracker. Someone who knows this land, and the people. And I know the best in the county. My niece, Jess.”_

 _“Uh-huh,”_ Eve murmured. She sensed a catch. _“But?”_

 _“But,”_ he agreed, _“She’s been taken. She’s being held at the Baron Lumber Mill up in the Whitetail Mountains.”_

 _“A favor for a favor,”_ Eve said.

_“We all need help in these times, deputy. You have to give a little, to get a little.”_

He wasn’t wrong. _“Fine,”_ Eve said.

_“You won’t regret this, deputy. If you need anything, just reach out. Good luck.”_

Addie was grinning. “I guess telling Joseph Seed to fuck off will have to wait.” She pouted. Addie grabbed the speaker before Eve could toss it on the table. _“Thanks, honey. Hopefully Jess will be able to reach out to you soon.”_ Eve was already walked away as they made their goodbyes.

Having a plan was better than nothing. She just wished it wasn’t this. No matter what Dutch said, or promised, it felt like she was getting farther and farther from Michael. Running in circles. And for what? To save a few people? Kill a few people? Did it even balance out, or was that just a lie people told themselves to feel better? How much was too much, before she wasn’t the same?

She thought it was supposed to get easier. Isn’t that what everyone said? When she had killed the three men on the road she had felt nothing. Eve thought it had been a good thing. If she was going to find Michael in this quickly expanding hellscape she would need a hardened heart. But it didn’t get easier. The dead were stacked against her, an already insurmountable wall only getting taller. And she couldn’t climb to the top, couldn’t see over, couldn’t see what was beyond. Just more dead, piling up, and her own guilt to weigh her down.

It had to be ignored, though, no matter how weary it made her heart. She would carry it for Michael. Willingly, if not entirely gladly.

Michael was the only one that mattered, she reminded herself. Her voice in her head sounded eerily like her father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So chapter 4 is mostly written at this point. Only thing is, it covers a stretch of time and events. I don't want to drag it out unnecessarily by adding filler, but I don't want to make it feel too disjointed. If I managed that, then chapter 5 will be where I feel the story truly begins. Chapter 1-4 exist primarily to set the scene, and introduce Eve and her way of thinking. Get to know how she thinks and feels, before the Seeds tear her down. Look for chapter 4 by this weekend, or the beginning of next week. Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
